Memoirs of an Undead
by DaveoTheMediocre
Summary: Follow the journey of a nameless undead as he makes his way through the dangerous and oftentimes confusing world of Dark Souls 3! Watch as he battles mediocre foes, attracts various males, and searches for the missing poise!


Rain. The pitter-patter of a light rain against something solid. The first of his senses to reawaken is his hearing, for what little good that did. All he could hear was the rain, and his own labored breathing. Next was his sense of smell, though the only smells to greet him weren't good ones. Rotting flesh being the most prominent, though he pushed that aside. Shifting his body, multiple pops rang throughout the air as his bones moved after such a long rest. His eyes slowly opened, and he was momentarily blinded by light, though it didn't last long.

"Where…" he slowly muttered, looking around at the barren graveyard and the empty stone coffins.

"...where the fuck am I?"

Grasping the edge of his own grave, he slowly pulled himself out, and let out a few wheezes at the sudden physical exertion. Shakily, he stood on his legs, and was pleasantly surprised when he didn't fall down. Though things were a bit wobbly, he had a much better view. A view that included himself. Glancing down, the man was a bit weirded out to find that he lacked pants, or any semblance of clothing, for that matter. Instead, he wore a loincloth, and a well worn one at that. The brown cloth felt oddly… right. He decided to ignore it, at least for now. His skin, a pasty white, stood out against the brown and gray of the ground.

"No sense in staying here…" the man mumbled, glancing at the figure in the distance. His face, covered in dirt, grime, and hair, lit up at the sight. Slowly, he inched towards the supposed man, and gave a slight wave with his arm. There was no response to said wave, but upon closer inspection this was to be expected, as the figure had their back turned to the man. "Uh, hello there! I am…" he yelled out, before pausing. What was his name? He couldn't recall, for the life of him. He stood there, dumbfounded and baffled. How could he not recall his name? The simplest of things, like one's name, should come with ease-

His musings were interrupted when a sword was jammed through his chest, cracking multiple ribs and severing arteries. The hilt of the sword soon met his chest, and the blade was then ripped out, producing a disgusting squelching sound. Pain flooded his nervous system, and his eyes bugged out of his head. In front of him was the figure from before, but the sight that filled his vision was no ordinary man. A corpse would've been a better description. Sickly, rotted yellow skin was upon the figure's face, and his eyes were pupil-less. It was covered in some sort of robe that had seen much better days, and in it's frail hands was a rusted sword, covered in the man's blood.

The man collapsed onto his back, and stared up at the monster. He could feel his life force draining, and his vision was going black. "N-no…" he weakly mumbled, trying to resist the oncoming blackness. The man wished to live! To learn of his situation and of his name! Who was he? Who had he been? What was his purpose? The man would never know. His thoughts were melancholy, filled with self pity and mourning. No one would remember him. He didn't even remember himself. These were his last thoughts, before he expired.

Rain. The pitter patter of a light rain against something solid. The first of his senses-

'Wait,' something in his mind spoke up, before he could finish the thought. 'The seems awfully familiar, doesn't it? The whole rain noise, the cool feeling of stone against my back- wait! That wasn't just a dream? I'm actually in a coffin?!' His calm was replaced by panic, and his eyes flew open. It didn't take the man long to adjust to the light, and to his horror, he was right. The man was back in the coffin.

Rising once again, he saw that he was indeed in the graveyard, the same one from his 'dream'. The figure was still in the distance, but an oddly out of place green-orb of some sort rested just above where he'd… where his dream had ended. The thing looked almost unreal, but his eyes played no tricks. Deciding to ignore the orb, at least for now, he turned his head to the last object to catch his attention.

A large, wooden club.

He hadn't noticed it before, which surprised him as the weapon was merely resting against his own grave. Patiently waiting for the man to wield it. He glanced at the figure, then the orb, then the club once more before making up his mind. He had a small, minute feeling that the 'dream' was anything but. As he hopped out of the stone coffin, he grasped the solid piece of wood with his pale hands. It felt… right, in his grip. The weight was fine, and he could imagine himself swinging the thing back and forth, knocking heads off of their shoulders.

While the thought of him not knowing his own damn name still shocked him, the man wouldn't let the robed figure get the jump on him once more. He may be naked, and he may be some sort of an amnesiac, but he surely could take on one foe, couldn't he? The robed fiend stumbled about, looking at various rocks and coffins in the waterlogged graveyard, with a sword stuck in it's grasp. Even if it flailed about randomly, the man had to be careful. Swords are still swords, regardless of the user.

Distracted by his careful observation, the man tripped over something and fell flat onto his face. "Ah, shit!" He grunted out, looking to see what had tripped him. His look of anger slowly dissipated. The man had tripped on what looked like some sort of patchwork shield, made of wooden planks. Pulling it free from the mud and water, he tested it's weight. "Not too bad…" he said, raising it up in a sort of blocking stance. He envisioned a sword coming down, and him absorbing the blow with the shield rather than his arm.

Nodding to himself, the man held the shield on his left arm, and looked back towards the robed figure. It was still looking at the rocks, and this boosted the man's confidence. "This is too easy…" he muttered to himself. He'd sneak up on the rotted bastard, and club it. And keep clubbing him until nothing was left of it's stupid rotting head! Sounded simple enough, yet nothing ever goes as planned.

Splash. Glaring at the ground, the man found that his foot had just disrupted the rather large pool of water that he hadn't noticed before. The rotting corpse also happened to be in the pool of water as well. It's disgusting head swiveled around, and an ungodly screech was released from it's mouth. With reckless abandon, it charged forward, wildly swinging it's sword. With a frightened yell, the man charged forward as well, with his shield held out in front of him.

Both looked rather idiotic at that moment. Running forward at each other, shouting unintelligibly. One nearly naked, the other looking homeless.

The sword bit into the wooden shield, and the corpse-monster screeched in anger. It's sword was stuck! It pulled and pulled, but the man pulled back. They were locked in a stupid looking tug of war, both fighting for a slab of wood with a dull blade imbedded into it! To an outsider, it would've looked moronic. But to the man, it was a fight for survival! The most important moment of his short lived life! If he lost this 'duel', who knows what would happen?! 'Surely nothing good!' he thought to himself.

The tug of war didn't last long. The corpse let go of the sword after seeing how it would not budge, and it accepted the fact that it may have to beat this one to death. The man flew backwards, having put all his strength into pulling. He fell and splashed into the water, landing on a myriad of stones. Groaning, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain. After a beat, his eyes flew open, and he narrowly dodged a foot aimed for his windpipe. The corpse growled in anger at its prey's reflexes, then in pain as a club slammed into its side.

The man hopped to his feet, and ignored the stones lodged into his back. No pain, no gain. The rotted beast bared it's teeth at the man, and lunged, only to be met with empty air. The man had instinctively rolled to the side, just barely dodging the tackle. He was mildly impressed with his own reflexes, but remembered just where exactly he was and what the stakes were. 'Can't keep distracting myself! Gotta stay focused!' he mentally chastised himself.

The man dropped the shield, and took the club in both hands. The two opponents circled one another, looking for an opening. Something clicked in both the man's mind and the mind of the corpse, and one another leapt into action.

 **A few minutes later…**

Heavy breathing filled the silence, as the victor slowly stood up. At his feet, the mangled corpse lay unmoving, before slowly disintegrating into the wind. The man felt a rush of some sort, like his inner willpower had been strengthened by the defeat of his foe. Spotting something from the corner of his eye, the man realized he dropped his shield in the middle of the fight.

Leaning down the grab it, the man sighed in relief. He'd done it! He'd fought that bastard with everything he had, and in the end, he'd won! Now, to find out where he is… and who he is as well. That one bothered the man. He had no prior knowledge as to who he was or where. He could talk… but he didn't remember where he'd learned to do such a thing. Was he some sort of amnesiac? Quite possibly. Why the hell was he in a graveyard? He let out a heavy sigh. The man wouldn't find any answers here. He had to get a move on.

And so, the Unkindled One's adventure began. If he knew what awaited him, maybe he would've stayed in the graveyard.


End file.
